


The Full View

by westernredcedar



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Background Jack/Eric, M/M, Plenty of swearing, Random anonymous hook up (not them), Rating is mostly misleading, Succeeding, Tater trying to be charming, past Jack/Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9156766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: Kent is nothing if not an utter glutton for punishment.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [November Snowflake (novembersnow)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/gifts).



> Happy 'Swawesome Santa, novembersnow!! I hope this fulfills your desire for a clueless Parse and very interested Tater. Thank you to wonderful sellahdor for the beta! All remaining errors are completely due to my own fussing around.

Kent drags his ass off the elevator and down the hallway to the door of Jack Zimmermann’s apartment. Why he’d ever thought this was a good idea is beyond him. (“Come by my place after the game.” “Really?” “A friend suggested I try out having a few guys over after. Maybe some of the Aces too? You know Torrey? He’s an old friend of Marty’s.”) Kent’s running an itemized list of reasons in his mind about why he should not be here. Namely:

A. He’s basically a walking bruise from the game this afternoon.  
B. Which was against the Falconers, many of whom will be just inside the door he’s standing in front of and considering knocking on.  
C. At least one of whom threatened him. In Russian.  
D. He flies out early tomorrow morning.  
E. Torrey doesn't really like him either, and he’s on his own fucking team.  
F. He has a promising anonymous hook-up brewing on Grindr.

And last, but probably most important:  
G. When it comes to Jack Zimmermann in his life, Kent never ends up coming out ahead. 

But Kent is nothing if not an utter glutton for punishment, so he raises a hand and knocks. An unfamiliar face appears in the doorway (one of the other Falconer rookies? Someone with no ice time today, anyway) and gives Kent a confused sneer as a welcome. 

Lovely.

“Thanks, I’ll just make myself at home,” he says, brushing past and into Jack’s fucking perfect apartment. God, did he actually agree to this?

There are about fifteen guys inside, lounging around on Jack’s sparkly new furniture, and Kent gets a strong and sudden impulse to spill something. The Falconers mostly just look up at Kent, widen their eyes, and then turn away to continue conversations already underway. Fabulous. Better and better. 

Kent spots the Falconer’s goalie, Snow, holding a beer over by the couch, and Kent’s been in the league long enough now to know that his only proper move is to head over and chirp a bit about the winning goal, take his lumps for the dirty hit, and then end with the what’s-past-is-past clinking of the beer bottles. But hell if he’s ready for that scene to play out until he's already sucked down at least one brew, preferably two.

He can see an ice chest full of beer on the counter in the kitchen, but he can’t get past a fucking giant standing in the way, whose back is to him, and then Kent hears his own name.

“You and Kent Parson of Aces. Old friends?”

“We played together as juniors.” 

“I pick him up by hair today. Maybe some jersey.”

“I saw, Tater.”

“Easy to lift.”

Jack spots Kent then, from around the enormous man between them, and gets that little half smile that used to make Kent’s heart drum out of his fucking ears. 

“Parse. You came.”

“Spot me a beer, Zimms?” 

“Yeah. Sure.” 

The giant turns around, looks at Kent and then lets out the most ridiculous deep belly laugh that Kent has ever heard. He’s like damn Santa Claus. “Kent Parson of Aces right behind me! What is! Like a bad movie!”

“Parse, this is Alexei. I think you...met earlier?” Jack hands Kent a beer.

Alexei Mashkov chucks Kent in the shoulder, hard. “Light as air, like prima ballerina.”

Lovely.

“What the hell did you threaten me with anyway, Mashkov. I’ve never learned much Russian.” Kent wrenches off the bottle cap, tosses the opener down on Zimms’ pristine granite countertop, and takes a long swig. 

“Eh, no threat. I say, ‘Kent Parson, see you later at party with Zimmboni! We share a beer!’ But very loud and Russian! Everyone scared.” Mashkov doubles over laughing at himself and Kent actually has to bite his lip to keep from cracking up himself. The man is ridiculous.

“I’m glad you decided to come, Parse,” Jack says, but he’s pushing past Mashkov, past Kent, pausing just long enough to rest his hand on Kent’s shoulder for a moment and squeeze (shit, right on a bruise) before he drifts off to his other guests. Fuck. 

Mashkov ignores Jack though, turns his giant attention completely onto Kent, and starts in on a boisterous review of the game, with emphasis on Kent’s smaller stature at every opportunity. Kent sips at his beer and chirps back appropriately when warranted. Mashkov seems like a good egg, the kind of guy who drops his gloves every game but leaves it all on the ice, and is actually the guy who organizes the team Secret Santa.

Besides Mashkov though, Kent sees nothing but dirty looks, and Jack’s not going to be any help. He’s pretty much ready to call this a huge mistake and retreat back out the door, but Mashkov grabs his elbow and pulls him close, as if to share some sort of secret. He’s huge, and surprisingly smells really fucking good. 

“No girls here,” Mashkov says, eyeing the crowd. 

Kent looks around too, thinking that’s really not a huge surprise. “You lonely?”

“Nah, not me! Talking to Kent Parson! Just think might get glimpse of famous Zimmboni girlfriend. No luck.”

Kent tries not to choke on his beer. “Jack has a...girlfriend?”

“Every day, on phone. Every week, more pie. He never tell more, but Alexei know. Great girlfriend.”

And, there it is. “But you’ve never met her?”

“Nah, no one meet. He keep very quiet.”

So, not a girlfriend then. Lovely.

Kent downs the rest of his beer in one go. Time to save face. “Okay, Mashkov, I'm out.”

“Wait. Why? Where are you going?”

Kent points to his watch and gives Alexei a crooked smile. “It’s definitely time for me to leave.”

“We are right in middle of conversation. Why you need to?”

“This conversation has mostly been vague insults about my size.”

“Yes, but...just getting started.”

Kent slings on his hat. “Listen, this has been a blast, big guy, but I’ve got a hook up.”

Mashkov looks at Kent with a frown. “A...hook up? What in hell is ‘hook up’?”

“It’s a...like a date.”

“You schedule date in middle of party? Seems rude. I hope it is future wife, and you plan to skip through flowers, magical wonderland. What else you leave party for?”

“Mashkov, it is definitely not my future wife.”

“Then is just rude.”

“It’s not rude. I played a hard game and I just wanna get my rocks off before I get some sleep.”

“What is ‘get rocks off’? This is very mysterious language.” Jack happens to stride back into the kitchen at this moment, and Mashkov grabs him with a tree branch arm. ”Jack, what is Kent Parson meaning he leave to ‘get rocks off’?”

Jack gives Kent the flatest what-the-hell stare that Kent has ever been on the receiving end of, which is honestly saying something. Kent doesn’t think he can roll his eyes any harder at Mashkov. “Don't ask _Zimms_. Jesus.” 

“Don’t try to learn English from Parse, Tater.” 

“Yeah, Zimms tried that once, so he knows.” Kent’s heart is racing and his phone is pinging in his pocket and he just wants to get out of here.

“This not helping. No one help poor Alexei understand.”

“It’s a euphemism, Tater,” Jack says.

Mashkov throws up his arms at that, looking further put out.

Kent snorts at Jack. “Okay, college boy. Calm down.” Kent turns to Mashkov and puts his hands on his (huge, solid) shoulders. “Mashkov, I’m off to have anonymous sex with a dude I’m hooking up with on the Internet.” Then he turns to Jack. He tries, but he can’t look him in the eye. “Jack, sorry I couldn’t stay longer.” 

“Kenny, wait,” Jack says, but Kent just waves a hand over his shoulder. 

Behind him, he hears Mashkov quietly ask, in his deep growl, “‘Dude’ only mean ‘man’, yes?” 

Kent makes it out the door without looking back.

*

A few snowflakes are drifting down and the air is knife-edge cold. Three texts come in as Kent shivers on the corner, waiting for his Uber. He doesn’t recognize the number.

_Zimmboni give me your phone. Alexei._

_To say sorry. Not meaning to make you run._

_Have good sex!_

Kent smiles in spite of himself, and gets Mashkov’s number properly set up in his contacts.

 **Kent** _I always do, Mashkov._

 **Alexei** _We finish insulting your size another time_

 **Kent** _Sure. Another time._

*

Kent wakes up at midnight to an oddly bright hotel room and a fine naked ass in his face. 

“Really snowing out there.” What had he said his name was? Enrique? Certainly not his real name. ‘Enrique’ is bent over pulling on his jeans (no underwear, he’d arrived without) and looking out the big windows of the hotel room. “Looks like a few inches.”

“Shit.” Kent hops up and joins him at the window. Providence is blanketed, and the city has that surreal, late night white glow that only happens in heavy snow. Gorgeous, really.

“I gotta get home before this gets any worse.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Kent wanders to the bathroom to take a piss. He usually likes his random fucks to stay the night, have one more go in the morning. Kent’s expertly hidden away any sign of his identity, but honestly, tonight he’s just as happy to have ‘Enrique’ hit the road. He wasn’t lying to Mashkov when he’d said he really just needs to get some sleep.

He’s splashing some water on his face when the dude crowds up behind him, mouths the side of his throat, and reaches around to give his prick a solid stroke. “Maybe a few more minutes. The weather can bite me.”

Kent loves the Internet. 

Once he’s alone again, Kent orders up some late night room service and settles in by the window to watch the snow. He misses winter so fucking much. 

His phone pings. It’s a group text from the Aces’ road manager, Mike.

 **Mikey** _Providence is getting over a foot of snow. Airport is closed. Don’t check out. More details when I get them._

Shit.

His phone pings again a few minutes later, and he assumes it will be Mikey again with their new travel plans. But it isn’t.

 **Alexei** _See the beautiful snow, Kent Parson?_

 **Kent** _hard to miss, Mashkov_

 **Alexei** _You only used to cactus_

 **Kent** _I grew up in Rochester. I’m king of the blizzards._

 **Alexei** _I take you to Kazan someday. Then you see real snow._

Kent reads that message several times. He shakes his head for a moment and reminds himself he met Mashkov for the first time a few hours ago.

 **Kent** _What’s with all the texting?_

 **Alexei** _Want conversation with Kent Parson. Kent Parson want sex more. Have to text._

Kent actually laughs to himself out loud, alone in his room. What is with this guy?

 **Alexei** _Sex done now?_

 **Kent** _Christ, Mashkov. None of your fucking business._

 **Alexei** _Oh I see. Dude still there, just very dull. Text during._

 **Kent** _I’m going to kill Zimms for giving you my number._

*

Kent finally gets a few more hours of sleep (Mashkov’s texts continue but slowly degenerate as it gets later. His last one before they sign off literally just says _imagine this clever chirp_ ). He’s awakened by the next ping from Mikey around six a.m. No flights in or out all over New England. He should plan to stay in the same hotel for one more night, hopefully they can get everyone on flights out the next day. Luckily, this won’t impact their schedule, it’s just a rest day snowed in in Rhode Island rather than basking in sunny Las Vegas. Honestly, Kent’s fine with this development. He drops back to sleep immediately.

When Kent wakes up again, mid-morning, he orders up some breakfast and then checks his phone. There’s a stack of texts waiting. Teammates and housesitter and...Mashkov?

 **Alexei** _Awake?_

 **Alexei** _Stuck in blizzard?_

 **Alexei** _when you wake up, Kent Parson?_

 **Alexei** _walking in snow, need company. Send hotel name, I pick you up. On foot, no car._

The last text is about thirty minutes old. 

**Kent** _what is your issue, Mashkov?_

 **Alexei** _No issue, just want to walk in snow with Kent Parson_

 **Kent** _Why?_

 **Alexei** _Beautiful_

 **Kent** _Some Russian you are. It’s like you’ve never seen snow before._

 **Alexei** _You not snow. What hotel?_

Kent stares at the last text for several minutes trying to figure out what the hell Mashkov means. Eventually he gives up. It _is_ beautiful outside, and Mashkov does make him laugh every five to ten seconds, and he does have an entire day to kill. He sends Mashkov the address of his hotel.

 **Alexei** _There in thirty minutes._

*

Providence is a fucking winter wonderland. Mashkov seems to have no further agenda beyond walking. He looks especially enormous in his winter boots, parka, and ridiculous tasseled hat. Kent has a weird urge to rush him and knock him into a snow drift. Mashkov leads Kent on a long tour through downtown, across the river, and up the hill where the colleges are. All the red brick and the underdressed nineteen-year-olds dashing around make Kent think about Jack, which he’d really rather avoid. 

“Historic homes, very quaint. Some oldest in city right here.” Mashkov has kept up a running commentary as they walk. He apparently knows a shitload of facts about Providence history.

“You do this often?”

“This? I never do before.”

“Really? You know a fuck-ton about the city. You’re like a professional tour guide. You could start a business when this hockey shit doesn’t work out for you.”

Mashkov ignores the chirp. “Oh you mean give walking tour? I mean other.” Mashkov is quiet for a moment, then clears his throat. “But I like knowing city. Proud. My adopted home.”

They walk on a cute street along the edge of the hill for a while. A few hearty souls have come out and shoveled parts of the sidewalk, but the plows haven’t made it to the smaller streets yet. The city is hushed and quieted by the blanket of snow: no cars, no planes, just the crunch of their boots and the sound of their breaths. It’s odd how comfortable Kent feels, just walking along in silence with this man he just met. 

They reach a point where the houses stop and an open expanse of snow stretches out in front of them. They plow a fresh trail of footprints through the thick snow.

“Favorite park. Roger Williams. See statue?”

Kent peers around the fencing to see, then snickers. “Why does he look like he’s flushing the damn toilet?”

Mashkov gives Kent a little tsk and shakes his finger. “No respect, Kent Parson. Founder of state, very important. Even Roger Williams need to take shit sometimes.” Kent snorts and then laughs, and Mashkov really has a very charming smile. 

The park is perched right on the edge of the hill, looking back at downtown and beyond. 

“Good view, yes? Kent Parson. Very romantic.”

Kent leans his arms along the top of the wrought iron fence along the edge and really takes in the view. White and crisp and so much like home. He laughs and says, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me, Mashkov.”

Mashkov crowds in right next to him and checks him on the shoulder. “You not think I flirting?” He mutters to himself in Russian, then rolls his eyes and says, “Okay, I try harder.”

Kent laughs for a moment and then stops, confused. “Wait, what?” 

“Text all night, tell you beautiful. Romantic walk in snow. Plan to kiss now. If you like.”

Kent has to step back and look at this ridiculous giant standing next to him in the snow, letting his mind try to process this nonsense. “Hang on, you are planning to kiss me?”

“Yes. Like movie. Dramatic music swell in background.”

“Are you fucking with me, Mashkov?”

Mashkov frowns a little and then answers by leaning over and pressing his lips, gently, against Kent’s. “Not fucking with you, Kent Parson.”

Kent can only stare. He thinks about the last day, all the weird build up of tension with Jack, the tough game, the emotionless, anonymous fucking around. And about how all of that shit has been _gone_ since Alexei Mashkov insisted on texting him all night long. 

Kent doesn’t hesitate. He wraps a gloved hand behind Mashkov’s ridiculous hat and pulls him in, letting his lips go soft and open, and god damn, but Mashkov is like an enormous bear, wrapping him up and pulling him close and if Kent had enough functioning brain cells to consider for a moment, he might notice it’s a really fucking romantic kiss. 

They pull apart and both of them instinctively look around, but they are still alone. Kent finds that he’s quite breathless, and a little off kilter. 

Mashkov looks right into Kent’s eyes, and Kent’s heart is on a bit of a roller coaster, and then Mashkov says, “Great, now we go back to apartment and get rocks off.”

Kent stops dead, and bursts into uncontrollable laughter. He has to bend double to try and catch his breath. He final manages to huff out, “Shit, Mashkov, sorry. I still don’t think you get what that means. It means…” Kent laughs again, “...to come, you know, an orgasm. Like, ‘rocks’ are…”

“Yes. Rocks. Nuts. Balls. Junk. Testicles. I understand euphemism.” Mashkov gives Kent the most innocent doe-eyed expression, and Kent wants to slug him. Or fuck him. It’s about fifty-fifty.

“You sneaky fucking bastar…”

“Okay, I try again, better English, more clear. Kent Parson, now we go back to my apartment for kissing, lots of, get naked, maybe sex. What you want. Not anonymous dude, not casual, not _hook up_. Happen today, also happen again soon. Maybe I come to Vegas? Well...if sex any good.”

Kent is frozen for a moment. He’s been propositioned many times in his life, but he’s not sure he’s ever been propositioned with a _relationship_ before. What’s crazy is that it doesn’t feel crazy at all. This ridiculous man has just fucking joyfully bowled his way into Kent’s life in twenty-four hours. Also:

“Oh my god, the sex is gonna be fucking amazing,” Kent realizes, and he's rewarded with another one of Mashkov’s deep belly laughs. 

“Da. I am best.”

Kent leans up and kisses Mashkov ( _Alexei_ , maybe), again, lets it get a little more dirty and deep this time, and Alexei’s right there with him, and, holy shit, this is not what Kent thought this roadie was going to be about.

“Wait, aren’t we like, a two hour walk from your place?”

“Good point, Kent Parson. Glad you so light.” 

Kent tries to defend himself, but Mashkov just lifts him up and slings him over his shoulder and starts to stride in ridiculous huge steps across the park. Kent can’t even catch his breath he’s laughing so damn hard.

Lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, Alexei lives just up the street. He's smart like that. 
> 
> Here’s the view of [Providence Prospect Terrace Park](http://www.trover.com/d/mwpJ-prospect-terrace-park-providence-rhode-island). It’s a gorgeous spot. You can also see the statue of Roger Williams that is there. You decide for yourself what you think Williams is up to with that pose.


End file.
